


Workplace Relations

by aerye



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:11:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/pseuds/aerye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Astolat asked for POI, Reese/Finch, river, lantern, essential.</p>
<p>Harold tries to send John away. He is...unsuccessful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Workplace Relations

**Author's Note:**

> I am RESOLUTELY not thinking too hard about this, but the first one's the hardest, right?
> 
> This is totally cheating. This is sort of an AU outtake from the AU Person of Interest story I'm already working on, so it doesn't really stand on its own. But I think all you need to know is Harold hired John to be his driver after China and before nine-eleven.
> 
> (Don't ask. There was a long ago prompt on the kink meme that was actually about them making out in the back seat that in my head turned into "John is Harold's driver.")

Madison's eyes were red, although whether it was from the announcement that morning of the layoffs or the generous flow of alcohol Nathan had provided at an employee lunch to soften the blow, Finch couldn't be sure. He'd left all of the details of the thing to Nathan. 

She passed him a small stack of letters and checks.

"What are those?" he asked impatiently, pausing in his typing.

"Formal notice of the layoffs, and the checks to go with them. Mr. Ingram said you would want to handle the ones for your own staff. The rest will go out with electronic signatures."

"I see," he sighed. Nathan was wrong—he didn't see that it much mattered how people were informed they were downsizing, as Nathan had taken to calling it, although with just the two of them left they would be essentially closing, a legal firm handling the business related to their patents. Harold had no illusions about corporate loyalty—the important thing to most people would be the check: two months for regular line staff, up to a year for the specialists. Life all over the city had been changing steadily since the terrorist attacks last year; IFT's layoffs would be lost among the other bad news on the financial page.

Nevertheless, he signed. His own staff was small—two coders, his security, and his driver. Nothing compared to Nathan, who had probably felt compelled to sign dozens of letters. Harold's hand hesitated only slightly over the letter addressed "Dear John," and he forced himself to sign quickly, leaving his signature a bit crooked. He'd always been the silent partner; with the closing of the company, he would become only more silent still. He certainly had no need for a driver. 

"Thank you, sir," Madison said as he passed the letters back. "Mr. Ingram said to let you know the building would be cleared by tonight. All staff who weren't here for the announcement are receiving notice by messenger, except for the international offices of course."

Finch nodded. He turned back to his laptop and waited until he heard the door close softly behind her. He picked up his phone. 

_Hello, Harold. You're finished early._

The warm sound of John's voice curled up in his ear. He closed his eyes involuntarily.

"Mr. Reese." He hesitated, then continued quickly. "Mr. Reese. My plans for this evening have changed; I won't be needing—" His voice faltered.

_Harold, what's wrong? You sound—_

He drew a deep breath. He didn't know what the next few years would bring. He only knew they would grow more dangerous than anything John had signed on for. "As I said, my plans have changed. I won't be needing the car."

A moment of silence. 

_All right. What time should I pick you up in the morning?_

He lost his nerve. "I have to go," he said quickly. "I have a meeting."

_Harold—_

"I'll call you later," he said and hung up, but it was another minute before he went back to his coding.

 

The night was a clear one, but chilly—Autumn was coming on. He'd walked south down along the river as far as it would take him—there were still cordoned off areas—before he turned east. At Fifth he turned north again, intending to head toward his apartment on the east side of the park, before he realized he didn't want the quiet emptiness he would find there and walked, without much thought, into the first restaurant he could find. He passed the man who greeted him a fifty in response to his question as to whether Finch had a reservation, and he was seated quickly at a table. The restaurant was small and warm, with barely a half dozen tables, all lit with small lanterns, and a hand-written menu. He considered ordering a vodka, straight up, then grimaced at his own theatrically and ordered a glass of wine.

"And I'll have a scotch."

Reese appeared from behind the waiter and slid smoothly into the chair opposite him. "Evening, Finch."

He froze. "Mr. Reese. How did you—?"

"You never called back." Reese slid his fingers inside his jacket and pulled out the letter with the prominent IFT letterhead. "But I got an interesting letter in the mail today. Well, actually," he smiled bitterly, "not the mail. You guys do know local mail is only $.37?" he asked, leaning back as the waiter placed his drink on the table in front of him. "Your overhead must be through the roof."

Harold accepted his wine with a nod. He took a sip, his hand trembling. "Nathan wanted a personal touch for anyone who had to receive the notice _in absentia_."

"Personal touch." Reese stared at him, then laughed shortly. "Yeah, I guess a rich guy's idea of personal might be a messenger service. So, _in absentia_. Is that Latin for 'too unimportant to talk to on the phone'? What's this all about, Harold?"

He cleared his throat. "I would think everything is laid out pretty clearly in the letter, Mr. Reese. Nathan—"

"You signed the letter."

His jaw tightened. "I did. Very well, yes. If you require me to tell you what you already know, then here it is: Nathan and _I_ have made the decision to downsize IFT. Our reasons are complicated but important. All non-essential personnel—"

" _Non-essential?_ "

"—have been laid off and given generous severances. The company will provide impeccable references." He took another sip of his wine. "There was nothing personal about this, John. I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding another job. In fact, with your knowledge and skills I know you have been, not to put too fine a point on it, _under_ employed, and I'm sure you will find a much more suitable opportunity."

Reese's hand shot across the table and his fingers locked down hard on Finch's arm. "I am _not_ ," he ground out, " _non-essential_ personnel—"

"John—" He tried to pull his arm free; Reese's hand tightened.

"—and this is _not_ just a job."

He tugged again, unsuccessfully. "Please release my arm, Mr. Reese," he said, as evenly as he could. "I appreciate this is distressing for you but our decision has been made."

Reese stared at him for a moment before he let him go. Then he tossed back the scotch, threw the letter and the check down on the table, and left the restaurant. Finch took a deep breath, looked away when the waiter cleared the empty glass and place setting from John's side of the table, and ordered the fish.

 

It was a bad morning. Finch had had too much wine with dinner the night before, fell into bed without setting the alarm, and barely woke up in time to shower. He had a meeting at ten with Nathan to start discussing the new Machine they would build, and he'd wanted a clearer head. There was a lot to think about. Also, it was raining outside, which meant a delay in getting a taxi and traffic on the way to the office.

He resolutely refused to think about John.

Harold stepped out of the elevator and nodded to the attendant as he held the door. "Gerald, I'll need a taxi—" he began, even as he felt someone appear at his elbow, umbrella open and over his head. He turned.

"John," he said numbly.

"Good morning, Finch. Your tea and your paper." John passed him his usual cup and the _New York Times_ , and led the way to the car, opening the back door and holding it as Harold climbed in. 

Harold turned back to him as soon as he was inside. "John," he began again.

Reese leaned in, the umbrella at his back shielding them from view. "I told you, Harold. I'm not non-essential. And this is not a job." Before Harold could contradict him John had leaned forward, stealing a short but forceful kiss before backing out and closing the door, shutting out the sound of the rain. 

Harold watched with wide eyes as John moved swiftly around the front of the car, taking his place behind the wheel. "Office?" Reese asked over his shoulder, his eyes automatically checking the traffic and potential for threats even as he put the car into gear. "Harold?" he asked again, when Harold didn't respond.

"Yes," Harold said softly, then more firmly as he settled back into the seat, fighting a grin. "Yes, Mr. Reese. The office."


End file.
